Tear–stained memories
by public static void
Summary: She was a Ravenclaw who cried at the slightest provocation, but the quality of her tears had a shimmery effect in the right light. Tom had seen memories before, and he knew with all certainty that the girl was not crying common tears.


**Written for Tomato Day Challenge: Step 1, grab a box of romano tomatoes and wash them** (write a story set in the Prefect's bathroom). Of course, this is a challenge at **The Golden Snitch!**

Bonus prompts used: (word) tomato, (word) soil, (object) towel, (dialogue) "Are you sure we're alone in here?", (character) Moaning Myrtle.

 **Note:** Yes, this is strange. It was born from the scene at Deathly Hallows where Harry collects Snape's tears to see in the Pensieve and from the idea that Riddle saw something else in Myrtle when he chose to target her.

* * *

The darkness did nothing to deter him from going to the Prefect's bathroom. The place, secluded and more private than the lockers of the Slytherin Quidditch team, was even better than the tranquil, luxurious showers at the Slytherin dorms. Tom Riddle liked his privacy —they said don't let your left hand know what your right hand does— so, like many other prefects before him, he chose to use the privilege granted to him and he went to the Prefect's bathroom.

The password, _Iridescent_ , oddly reminded him of a girl he had seen in passing. She was a Ravenclaw who cried at the slightest provocation, but the quality of her tears had a shimmery effect in the right light. Tom had seen memories before, and he knew with all certainty that the girl was not crying common tears.

So, he asked her to follow him when he saw her outside the second-floor girl's bathroom and she was currently walking, hunched, behind him.

The plan had its merits, but it was a sad thing that his bath was to be postponed in order to speak with the girl. While he had grown up in a muggle orphanage where boys and girls shared showers, things were different here at Hogwarts.

To begin with, they were both labelled mudbloods and people would assume Tom was no better than those of inferior blood if they saw him with her. If he dared to share a shower with any of his classmates —or a Ravenclaw mudblood girl one year beneath him— he'd be labelled something worse.

"Are you sure we're alone here?" Myrtle Warren asked.

Tom snorted, a gesture that wasn't elegant but managed to convey the thoughts crossing his mind. He passed her his towel, fluffy and green, to the girl who took it as if were something dangerous.

"It's only a towel, Warren," Tom said, unimpressed with the girl. "We're here for something of great importance. And, to answer your question, we are never alone inside Hogwarts."

Myrtle tilted her head to a side. For a brief moment, Tom believed he saw an insatiable need of knowledge, a hint of curiosity directed at his words, in Myrtle's eyes. The girl looked down after that and Tom sighed. Mudbloods would never achieve anything if they kept acting like Myrtle Warren did.

"Why are we here?" she asked. Her cheeks took a red tint; a tomato would have been more appealing than the girl was coyly trying to be.

"You look like a tomato," he said unceremoniously, sitting down in one of the fancy, cushioned chairs that were impermeable. With a pointed look, he silently ordered Myrtle to sit in front of him. "We are not here to do anything improper, Miss Warren. Haven't I been a perfect gentleman? You need not fear me."

His words, at the end, were more amused than reassuring and she noticed it. Trembling, she sat in front of Tom. They shared a look for a few seconds. The girl wasn't pretty, and Tom could see in her attitude why people bullied her. He wasn't here for that.

"I saw you crying," he deadpanned, waiting to see if she knew what he was talking about. He wouldn't share the knowledge of those liquid memories without finding out if she realised the extent of her abilities.

"People bother me," she whispered almost hesitantly. Tom wanted to snort again; this wasn't the kind of disclosure he had in mind when he brought her here. "They say mi blood is dirty. They say I am dirty."

"How stupid," Tom said. The words were directed at Myrtle herself, who let others stomp over her feet while she kept crying. She didn't take it like that and looked up, her eyes shining with clear tears. "Not them, Myrtle. You. You are stupid for letting them speak like that."

Her eyes hardened and after a few seconds of silence, Tom noticed the white shimmer in her eyes. The memories were coming.

"Most wizards and witches aren't worth the soil they step on, Myrtle," Tom told her, wiping away the tears from her eyes. She was staring at him and he kept it like that with a little Legilimency. Myrtle Warren never noticed how Tom wiped his tear–stained fingers in a special type of material, one Tom had gotten in exchange for a few secrets. Myrtle's memories were there now. "Make sure you aren't like them."

He extended his hand towards her and Myrtle's eyes brightened.

"The towel, Warren," Tom smirked. "Give it to me."

She did and Tom moved his head pointing to the door. She got the hint and, smiling, said goodbye.

Tom grimaced. He loathed the girl and would feed her to the basilisk as soon as everything was ready. Meanwhile, he would analyse these tears. The memories inside them would help Tom to understand the nature of creatures such as Myrtle. He would see how to modify them and he'd leave a breadcrumbs trail with them leading to the opposite direction where he was heading.

He grinned in the dark of the Prefect's bathroom. He already knew Legilimancy, Occlumency... He knew how to leave someone without memories, how to plant false memories. These tears would teach him how to alter memories outside one's mind.

Tom would use this to become greater.


End file.
